“Too may things around, too many things”, the fool said to the wise man approaching the dust of the dusk.

Actor and spectator as well, human and not human, your brain and your body.You still different but almost a part as well. What’s your language now?Can you speak having no words to be said? Your eyes, only your eyes can talk and tell and discover, no matter if noone is listening, no matter if all dancers flew away long ago with all their sparkling dresses.

Did you already get that sensation?Did you already experience the silence in the last room of the empty building, just below the highest flat?

Where someone was living, where someone has lived, where someone spent days and weeks and blocks of existence, where someone somewhere has memory of this as a beautiful spot in a long sequence of hours organized as days, organized as weeks, collected together to have months in the year?

Is the time only a sequence?Is the time only an organization? Is there any parallelism or jump or shutcut to be searched for?Can we cut away a part of it and loose nothing but the unwanted?Can we rebuild the past, rearranging small pieces of joy into a different puzzle simply stratching and squeezing and zipping each single chunk?

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​Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths. ​